


Dogfight

by VegaVargas



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blackmail, Blood and Violence, Drug Use, Humiliation, Illegal Activities, International Criminal Mafias, Intrigue, M/M, Master/Pet, Murder, Older Man/Younger Man, Suicidal Thoughts, political manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegaVargas/pseuds/VegaVargas
Summary: After all other options have been exhausted, there is still a chance to make some money in the world of crime. Thomas has nothing more to lose, and nothing to offer except his strength. He makes a desperate bid for a place in the underground fighting tournament that promises a large windfall to the victor. He's resigned to suffer any amount of cruelty to get back the life he lost, but is forced into a churning cesspool of greed and gambling. He will have to learn to be ruthless, obedient, and if possible, keep ahold of his humanity.





	1. Puppy

The light rain had eased up, and the hot sun made the cool windshield fog up. The birds started chatting again, escaping from the wooded stream near the road. It was a nice neighborhood.

 

Too nice, too expensive. I leaned my heavy brow against the steering wheel, letting the newly revealed sun bake my head. I stared intently at my knees, breathing slowly and fondling around for thoughts. Greedily, I held on to each free second I could. I thought for a short moment that right then, in that balmy sports car, I was alive and had no responsibilities, no pain, and no debts. It passed.

 

I lifted my two ton cranium enough to look into the rear-view mirror. I looked tired. Not only that, I looked like I had been tossed down a flight of stairs. Movement seemed impossible, but at least I could open the door and let the some air in. After the handle clicked and the car door swung to the side, I was overcome with a cool breeze. I had been sweating, I guess. 

 

I thought about lighting a cigarette, but then I thought about how much cigarettes cost. I could save it for a better time, when I deserved it. Without that distraction, I didn't have much else between me and the front door. I supposed I could just go, stop caring, let what happens happen. After all, what more did I have to lose? Dignity, pride? Some threat that was. When I thought about it like that, it didn't seem so bad. Stop caring. It's my only option.

 

I attempted to walk up to the door. I did all the necessary steps: stand up, close the car door, step up the curb, and walk up the cobblestone walkway. Although I tried to concentrate on each step and take my time, it happened in a flash. A white door, a normal house, mowed lawn, big bay windows with drawn curtains. It was the kind of house that didn’t draw too much attention. It wasn’t any more expensive looking nor larger than any other house on the block, and there was nothing that gave it any certain character that one could call upon if they tried to describe it. There was movement in the house. ‘Had I knocked?’ I suppose I had. 

The plan to not care wasn't succeeding. My gut wrenched in place, and because of the breeze I could tell I was still sweating. My eyes felt extra heavy and my arms felt like they would slide off my shoulders from all the weight and stress. I wondered how many people have to feel this way. Depression or desperation, either way. It sucked. 

 

The doorknob clicked and the door swung open quickly, instantly revealing the man on the other side. He was taller than me, and cleaner. He had groomed black hair flatly set behind his ears, and well-fitted formal garb. He didn't smile or greet, but looked at me up and down. I certainly hoped I wasn't supposed to dress up for this. He must have thought I was some kind of nuisance judging by the stuck-up expression he pulled. He finally looked me in the face, his lips pursed as though unimpressed, his dark complexion and dark rimmed glasses having never had to ask for help from anyone. 

 

"Gerlach?" he stabbed. I blinked.

"Yes."

 

"You’re… Dutch, I presume?" 

 

I blinked again. "I guess." I wasn’t told I needed to present myself, or give any particular kind of first impression. It was the first time I had ever been identified alongside my heritage.

 

He opened the door wider motioning for me to enter, so I did. The inside looked far more impressive than the outside. The facade of a calm suburban home gave way to pristine hardwood floors, a gigantic living space decked out with expensive-looking furniture filled with more well-dressed men. Most of them were crowded around a plasma screen as big as my tool shed, tapping furiously on tablets and murmuring numbers to each other and their phones.

 

The tall Iranian man that answered the door looked at me expectantly over his shoulder as he moved past the crowd. I figured I was supposed to follow him somewhere, so I kept my eyes on the ground and followed behind like a lost kid following a police officer. I could feel the gamblers' eyes on me as I shuffled past, but since I didn't look up, I couldn't tell if they were disgusted or just sizing me up. My footsteps thudded loudly on the floor, clearly audible amidst the hushed atmosphere.

 

We passed  a kitchen that was functioning as a bar, home to a dozen women smoking cigarettes and cradling drinks. They looked like wives whose only job was being a wife, who even when sitting seemed to be looking down on me. I could sympathize. For a moment I imagined a life where the only thing you had to choose was which color your new car should be. It was charming to be the wife of a powerful, rich man that was away all the time. I would kill for that kind of life.

Past the bar through a large glass door was the backyard, where we ended up. There were more people there, crowded around on the patio by a table under a sprawling, cherry red awning. This group of eight men, some with grey hair, were all wearing polo shirts and smoking cigars. Unlike the men inside, most of them were white, with deeply furrowed brows, laughing far too loudly at the last joke someone told. They were pink and hairy, wearing gold chains and more rings than they had fingers. The patio led out to a large, immaculate pool and more neatly mowed grass, shrouded in an ivy covered wooden fence. I finally recognized someone, as Jerry was sitting amongst the polos supping from a whiskey on the rocks. He saw me too and almost choked on his drink trying to stand up and greet me

.

"Thomas! Good boy!" He enthusiastically waved me towards him. The Iranian man glanced at me sideways and disappeared back into the lobby. Absently, I slid over to the table.

 

"Boys, Tommy here is the man I met last night. Real sob story, this guy." 

 

Jerry sat back down again, much thinner than the men around him, but a voice loud enough for all of them put together. Suddenly all of their jovial conversation ceased. They peered at me with squinting eyes like I was the sun itself, puffing furiously at their cigars. The oldest among them, a sports jacket draped around his shoulders even in the scorching summer heat, gestured flippantly at me.

 

"I don't really care about the story," His voice struggled to escape his throat like it had to climb a mountain to get there, "Can he fight?"

"Sure he can, he's got arms like a damn horse. Tommy, show them your arms!" 

 

I was wearing a t-shirt, so I wasn't sure how much more I could be showing my arms. I shrugged noncommittally.

"Look, I don't care if he _ is _ a damn horse. Can he fight?" The man pointed his cigar at Jerry's face. Jerry waved the smoke from his eyes and frowned with his ugly pockmarked chin scrunching up into his upper lip.

 

"Would I lie to you, Frank? Yes he can fight," Jerry sneered and smiled at the same time, "Tommy, show them your abs!"

 

My gut wrenched again, I suppose it wasn't an odd request, but it still made me feel sick. I had hoped old man Frank would slap Jerry down again, but the boys were just staring at me. Nervously I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it up to my collar. The cool air against my flushed chest felt nice, so I concentrated on that. 

They talked incoherently to each other all at once, commenting on what kind of exercise I did with horrifying accuracy.

 

It wasn't a lie, I could fight. At least 15 years of boxing would hopefully apply. Even though they were admiring me like a cut of meat, I felt like junk. I hadn't boxed in years, my body was slipping, and I had bags under my eyes from lying awake at night. I smelled like shit, having loaded my shirt and jeans combo with a litre of the day's perspiration, but at least I had some form, and some sculpt to my arms. If this fooled them enough I could have a chance. Even now my arm was getting tired of holding my shirt up so I let it go.

 

"Take the shirt off, the pants too." The voice rang out from the group, and the others nodded in agreement. I hesitated. I looked at Jerry for some kind of excuse, but his face was plastered with a shit-eating smile, and he waggled his stupid eyebrows.

 

Slowly I took the shirt off and cast it on the concrete patio ground. I looked at it, and then my zipper. I touched it and felt flush, my throat choked up and my head burned like it was on fire. My mind was empty, but I felt like I was going to cry. I swallowed hard and quickly wiped my face, making as if I was wiping away sweat. Then promptly, I unzipped and pushed the legs down, removing the pants with my shoes. I stood completely still, my entire body tense. Trying to take my mind somewhere else proved to be a useless endeavor, as it only made me more aware of what I was trying to escape. In looking away from the polos, I was made aware of the women on the other side of the glass door, having all decided to watch the show, pointing and talking silently while covering their grinning faces.

 

One after the other, two of the men had gotten up from their chairs to get a closer look. They poked at my arms and legs, making me more tense. I started to notice pressure building up inside me. The bawdy heat was starting to get to me, and I had been unknowingly holding my breath for a while. In an attempt not to pass out, I closed my eyes and tried to relax. ‘Think of anything else.’ One of the men grabbed my dick through my briefs, flooding me back to reality.

 

"Hey, maybe he is a horse after all!" He screeched. The men howled in laughter, beside themselves. He jerked my junk around like it was supposed to detach, "Hey horsey, wanna go for a ride?"

 

Every vein in my body surged, I felt my ears glow red, and without a single thought passing through my thick skull, I socked him square in the temple, knocking him onto his back. The mood shifted immediately. My eyes darted around in panic, my mouth still sealed and cracked from the sun, wondering when the last time was that I spoke. The man rolled over on the ground, playing up how much I hurt him while the rest of the crowd looked straight at me, their eyes madly reassessing me. My lips cracked when I opened them.

 

"I'm... sorry," I tried to say, my voice a bit hoarse. I was hoping it would stop the staring, but it didn't.

 

"How sorry are you, horsey?" Said the man standing on the other side of me, whose friend I just popped. His face came too close to mine in an attempted threatening pose. I wanted to smack him too, but I reminded myself of the pride I left in the car.

 

"I was surprised. I'm.. really sorry."

 

"He's useless," piped up Frank, "I don't have time for a flighty smartass. Take him away."

 

My heart sank. The piercing bright day began to fade as my vision began to tunnel. The man beside me grabbed my arm, I could only imagine in an attempt to lead me back to my car. The car I was borrowing, to the house I was losing, and the life I didn't have. I didn't want to struggle, so instead, I fell to my knees. Still attached, I dropped on my other arm and sunk my head. There was silence with some quiet whispers, possibly from the other side of the door where my drunken female audience kept notes. 

 

I didn't look up. "Forgive me." I said again.

 

There was more silence. I started running scenarios through my head of what I could say, how I could convince them that this was my last shot. It didn't even pass through my mind how cruel it was that I was so desperate to be taken in by such fuckwads. It didn’t matter who they were, they had money, and they were giving it away.

 

The silence seemed to last forever, and I began to notice the pain in my knees. Not only had I fallen with all my weight onto rough concrete, but I was pressing myself into the ground. I thought about the wives and how good their drinks must taste. I thought about sitting at the bar all day getting drunk off my ass and jumping into the pool when it got too hot. Instead I'm scuffing my knees on the ground, begging some old men to treat me like cattle. Even then, I was hoping my pathetic desolation wasn't lost on them. 

 

Then I saw shoes in front of me, from the man I socked. Then pain. 

 

Dizzy, I realized he was kicking me. First was a blow to the head, which would have knocked me over if I hadn't been held in place by his friend on my right. Then there was more: my side and my gut, blow after blow. I grunted and wheezed as the clumsy kicks landed over and over. I scraped my knees more as I tried to buckle over or writhe away from the standing man's tightening grasp. If I had eaten today I might have thrown up, but instead I just coughed as stagnant spit foamed at the corners of my dry mouth.

 

"You can stop," ringed a voice, possibly Frank's. There was noise from the table, clinking of glass as the boys swigged their drinks, and shuffling as the aggressor stepped away. I spit on the ground, trying to get the rancid taste of phlegm and blood out of my mouth.

 

"Son, I can't just be _told_ that you're sorry," Frank continued in a mock sympathetic tone. My mind raced as I heard them shuffling around some more, "Danny, what do dogs do when they want to show submission?" 

 

The answer came from the man I punched.

 

"They piss themselves, Frank." Danny answered. 

 

The boys roared with laughter. That gross, loud laughter that I heard walking in on them. Another great joke from Danny, it seemed.

 

As their laughter rang in my swimming brain, I reflected on my position. I didn't want to believe they were enjoying this, that they loved dangling money over my head and making me jump. I suppose it was possible to get up and leave, to grab my clothes and storm out, but... it was $50,000. That's what Jerry said, and that's just for the first fight. Jerry could have been throwing out arbitrary, fake numbers to make too hard to say no. It could be that these jack-offs had no real sway in who got admitted or not. They weren’t acting like the kind of people I wanted to trust on faith alone, but I had nothing to leverage but my ability to entertain them.

 

"You heard the man," Frank said, "piss."

 

I had to rationalize. It wasn’t that bad. A $50,000 piss. So they'll laugh, and get to feel like big, powerful men for a while. So I tried. I uselessly tried to send something through my body, but I was dehydrated and weak. I tried again. $50,000 piss. I thought about what I'd buy, all the problems it would erase, all the pain that would go away. I could get out of debt, I could change my life, and I could drink whiskey by a pool like these fuckers. After that, it was easier.

 

I only knew I was succeeding after the roars sounded up again, sounding distant and ethereal. I was in my own world, pissing down my leg as it pooled by my gashed-open knee. I didn't know I had anything to give, but I was glad, almost serene. This is what they wanted, and in a way, that meant I was winning. If they thought they would break me through humiliation, they were dead wrong. If they wanted some stupid dog to piss on command, then they were the fucked-up ones. I just did what I had to. 

 

After more clinking and shuffling, a different pair shoes were in front of me. They were beautifully crafted and made out of leather. I could smell it, even over my own fetor. They must have been new. 

 

"You must be thirsty, puppy," someone said as liquid poured over my head. Wet, refreshing, then burning. I wretched and coughed, recognizing the smell of strong whiskey saturating my scalp and trickling into my eyes and mouth. I hadn't noticed until then, but the blows to my head must have been worse than I thought. The liquor seeped into my wounds causing new waves of pain that jolted me awake. The man continued pouring it down my body as I struggled to breath through the biting stench of alcohol. 

 

The nice shoes recoiled slightly, "Aw, he spit up on my new shoes. Come on pup, lick it up."

 

I wish I could say I was shocked or angry, but instead, my defiance came through obedience. They thought I was a joke, that I still had shame. The man on my right let me go, and I inched forward, leaning down. The noise of cajoling and whooping from the table was unbearable, but it was the show they asked for. I was freed from it all. I was one hundred miles away. 

 

I bent over the stranger's shoe and lapped up the flecks of spit and whiskey. He could barely keep still from all snickering, but my mouth followed where his shoe moved. I licked the top of the shoe clean, even venturing to some of the side. Amazingly enough, I was thankful that they were such nice, new shoes. He must have kept them well, because they weren't dirty at all, so it made it easier. 

 

From there, I sat up. I looked at them, all smiling, old, and stupid. I looked at the door, where the wives were cheering and applauding. It was strange, in that moment it felt like they were on my side.

 

"I like him," said the new shoes, " _a lot_."

 

I assumed he was talking to Frank, and I too was wondering if I had done enough. I looked straight at Frank, still sitting, unmoved at his seat. Everyone was looking at him, who looked in deep thought. I felt woozy and heavy again, and it dawned on me that the blunt stinging in my knees was still pounding away. Maybe the strangeness of the situation had made me forget, but part of me wondered if I wasn't somehow proud. They had hit me, embarrassed me, and asserted their dominance. I had come out on top. Frank smiled.

 

"The dog bit when we grabbed his dick. See if he'll do it again," he said.

 

The new shoes bent at the knees to get on my level, a cocky grin on his face. He was dressed all in white with dark ear-length hair smoothed back against his head. He must have been 40-years-old at least, ten years older than me. He pinched my cheek hard, the rings on his fingers digging into my skin.

 

"You won't bite, will you, puppy," he said. I wanted to say ‘fuck you.’ I wanted to smack him in his cunt face. 

 

I struggled backwards, but instead I fell over myself, unable to compensate for the new weakness in my legs. I suddenly felt how naked I was, how I was one pair of boxer briefs away from being wet and nude in someone's backyard. Panic began to set in, and reality was crashing in around me. Thoughts of fleeing returned to me, and I remembered how insane the whole scenario was, and how I had played into it the entire time. I looked around me at the impeccably tall fences, then at the only door, which was shrouded by the faces of gorgeous women in gorgeous clothing. Before I could look for an exit, I felt the shoe stomp on my crotch, the heel narrowly avoiding my balls.

 

He moved his foot and leaned on it hard, nearly knocking the wind out of me. He slid his foot up the shaft of my penis and slowly began moving it up and down. The hard sole pinned me down with every move of resistance. The rubbing combined with my soiled pants began to chafe, and I couldn't hold in a yelp of pain. I gasped and then with a sucking hiss of air, I closed my eyes tightly and clenched my fists. Meanwhile the boys were cooing like they found a new animal at the zoo. They liked it, and in my pain I was losing again. I bit my lower lip, tight.

 

New shoes leaned in harder, now pushing against my diaphragm.

 

"Come on, Puppy, I thought you liked me." He lifted his shoe only to smother my dick underneath it again, stroking it every time. 

 

"Throw him in, he smells like a fucking toilet."

 

The man on my right grabbed my arm again, along with someone else. They began to drag me to where I quickly realized was the pool. I let go of my lip, tasting fresh copper blood, to try to hold my breath before they plunged me in with a deafening splash.

 

Suspended in the cold water, my whole body was horribly awakened again. I was sore, I was hungry, and I was bargaining with a bunch of freaks. I briefly remembered those few minutes in the car before I knocked on the door. Somehow I had known that time was precious. I wondered if I would die here, if those were my last moments of peace. If that was the case, I should have smoked that cigarette. I contemplated staying underwater. At least then they would have a big dead body to deal with instead of a sad man to torture. The fantasy quickly dissolved when the men pulled me out of the pool. They dropped me unceremoniously back onto the concrete where I sputtered more bloody spit bubbles. At least now I wasn't so damn hot.

 

There must have been water in my ears, because the following conversation was impossible to hear. There was a ringing in my ears, and I fought to gain many of my senses back. 

 

I was grabbed again and I wanted to throw them off. I was getting tired of being thrown around, I wanted to stand up myself, I wanted time to think. Maybe it was over. Blinking the water from my eyes, I saw that I was being led through the house again. I didn't know whose house it was, but they must be awfully tolerant to allow a soggy, bleeding man to be dragged through the hallways. I was left in a bedroom.

 

Now was my chance, the room was empty for now, so I stood up. Looking around, it was as neatly furnished as the rest of the house: a king size bed with fluffy-looking blankets, a huge closet lined to the brim with gaudy suits, and a vanity that took up half the wall. I tried to study it to see what kinds of people these were, besides what I already knew. 

 

They didn't throw me in some torture dungeon in the basement, so at least I had that. It could be they were talking about signing me on, and wanted me to rest up. It was certainly optimistic of me to think, but it could have been an initiation, like they do for frat rushes. Maybe they were stuck in the old days when you had to run people through the gauntlet before you let them into the club, so maybe I was in the club now.

 

I took the freedom as a good sign, I found a towel in the personal bathroom and wiped down my hair. I glanced at the reflection in the mirror, and I looked like shit. My short brown hair was half-wet and ruffled, my eyes still tired, and now I smelled like chlorine and whiskey, which admittedly, was an improvement. I took off my sopping wet underwear and discarded it on the floor. I inspected my penis, it didn't seem any worse for the punishment it got. My knees on the other hand were a mess. The rough housing did more than just scrape them, they were wrecked. I cleaned them off a bit with the towel and tried to raid around for some neosporin, or anything.

 

Of drugs there were plenty, the kind of shit that's just absolutely ridiculous to put in a bathroom. There were controls for heated tiles, stuff for fixing your hair, and some powder that resembled what I was always told cocaine looked like. Unless I wanted to take hardcore painkillers, I was lost, and I certainly wasn't hurting that badly. These people obviously lived in some kind of fantasy world, or it was just a guest house for gambling and drinking. Here I was wanting to be one of their pawns. Dirty money was still money. 

 

That was it. Money. It was so close. All I knew was what Jerry told me. He said that it was an underground fighting match. Sob stories like me get together to punch each other out for other people's entertainment. There's betting, there's bruises, but the fighters get paid per fight. $50,000 for the first fight, if I win. He said he'd be my 'manager'. I assumed that just means groups of gamblers train a fighter themselves and bet on them. Some team I chose. It didn’t matter who I would have to fight, I was more desperate than any of them. 

 

I heard the bedroom room creak open. I quickly covered myself with the towel and peered in from the bathroom. New shoes.

 

"Hey," he said, leaning sleazily against the doorframe. I occurred to me that he was probably wasted. It could have been the fresh whiskey bottle in his hand, "Are you decent?"

 

"No."

 

"Great," he slurred as he hobbled into the room. He haphazardly placed the bottle and two short glasses on the nightstand and slumped into the bed. It was only maybe two o' clock.

I didn't want to leave the bathroom, but he was alone, weak, and knew more than I did. I wanted to ask him some questions. I stayed by the bathroom door holding onto the towel tightly.

 

"Do I get to be in the fight?"

 

He looked over at me with his eyebrow raised, I couldn't tell if he thought I was stupid or he couldn't believe I dared to ask. He smiled with a laugh and started pouring the glasses, suddenly acting a bit more sober.

 

"That depends." He finished his pouring with a short pause, then looked back up towards me, "I could get you in the fight, Puppy. I'm the one you have to convince. So, how good are you?"

 

It felt out of place, suddenly talking to my face. Wasn't he just rubbing my blood off his shoes with my underwear? Something was wrong.

 

"I can fight... well," I stammered, "Boxing. I'm..." I hadn't really prepared anything to say. "Jerry said I could make money if I win the fights. I don't care what kind of operation you're running, I just need the money."

 

New shoes listened patiently as I got it all out. He picked up one of the glasses and held it out to me with a nod. I didn't really want to drink, I was parched and hungry, it would get to me too easily. Then again, I could be in the real interview. I tentatively walked over and took the glass. I was next to him now and he still said nothing. He just stared at me. I sipped. It burned my throat and made me snort out of surprise. Really strong. God, probably the most expensive thing I ever drank. He laughed, breaking the silence.

 

"Okay tough guy," With one finger he tried to pull at the towel I was holding one-handed. I yanked away and held it tighter. He looked annoyed.

 

"Come on Puppy, play nice." He took off his shoes and set them aside. I stayed still. He looked at me again then continued by taking off his shirt. At least now I knew what was wrong.

 

"I want my clothes back." I said quietly, looking away. 

 

I heard the bed creak as he stood up. He grabbed my face to pull it towards him and closed his mouth in on mine, in a forced, awkward kiss. I dropped the glass. 

 

I pulled away and pushed him back. He just moved back to me, grabbing my arm and reaching towards my face again. When I turned, he just kissed my cheek, my neck. My half-committal pushing wasn't doing anything to stop him.

 

"Stop!" I grunted, trying to control him with my one free arm.

 

"Please, you're so cute," he said stupidly.

 

I didn't know what to say. He was holding me for ransom. He said I needed to convince him and supposedly this was what he meant. This was too far. I could get beaten up, humiliated, sure, but I couldn’t let myself get used like a sex toy. I hadn't even considered it. He called me ‘cute’, of all things.

 

Tired of struggling, he grabbed me around the waist and slipped his hand underneath the towel, sliding it past my ass. The less I succeeded at pushing him away, the more of him was on me. With one arm he tightly grabbed my wrist and with the other he fondled my ass, always trying to kiss me on my face. I was stronger than him, but he was still powerful and insistent, and I was starting to lose stamina. 

 

"I'll spell it out for you Puppy," he said with his mouth against my ear, "If you fuck me, I'll let you fight. You can do it any way you like."

 

A clear goal, a straight answer. It made it so clear. This is what I had to do, this was the final step. I turned to look at him, my face wrought with confusion. I tried not to think, I tried to block every voice in my head that hated myself and hated how pathetic I was being. I breathed slowly and methodically.

 

“Okay.”

 

I thought it would be hard, but I just had to stop resisting him. He laid into me, kissing me over and over. He nibbled around my neck and feverishly humped my leg. He was obviously really turned on. I tried to keep up, my arm shakily laid to rest on his shoulders, cradling his neck while I endured the revolting sound of his smacking lips. Having me respond turned him on more, so he pulled me forward and lay back on the bed. I could see his goddamn boner through his pants, right as he fiddled with them to try and take them off. I dropped my towel, and he stopped. His pants half down his thighs, he reached out for me instead. When he grabbed my ass I instinctively grabbed his wrist, but then I let him pull me closer anyway. 

 

He started licking and kissing my limp dick, my inner thighs and my lower stomach. It was hard to watch, and it was embarrassing. Or maybe I liked it. This asshole stomped my dick and now he's licking it like a starving animal, making small noises like he couldn't contain himself. He was just some sad old queer, and he was giving me all the power. I would do more than fuck him, I'd rip him apart. 

 

I started getting hard. I didn’t dwell on it, whether it was just my dick was getting sucked, or if I was horny for revenge.

 

As I started getting some lift off, he began sticking the whole thing in his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth, so I grabbed him by his hair and forced him hard against my crotch, my dick swelling and hardening in his stupid mouth. I hoped he’d choke on it, so I held him there. Instead of struggling, he took it all in, breathing in my pubes and slobbering. My dick started twitching, rubbing up against his tongue. It was really turning me on, and I wanted to hurt him more.

 

I threw him off me onto the floor. He reeled back and had his breath knocked out a bit, but as soon as he recovered he resumed taking his pants off. I grabbed the drink he poured for himself and downed it as quickly as I could without gagging. I shook it off, already feeling a buzz, then threw the glass at the floor behind him. I slammed it back down and he flinched. I stared down at him, but he only just grinned back at me.

 

I knelt over him and pushed his face into the ground. Anything to wipe that annoying grin off his face. I leaned down on him with all my weight, my boner pressing against his hairy stomach. I started biting his neck, clenching on, trying to draw more blood. He just tried to hump me and wrap his legs around me. I wanted it, I wanted sex. No, I wanted fucking. Something about the sweat, blood, and alcohol made it feel kinky, even. I knew he liked me, and I had never had much self-esteem, but I could see how I could be a prize compared to him. It made me feel wanted, feel powerful.

 

“Nightstand drawer.” He said. It took a second to realize he said something. I got up to look behind me.

 

It contained condoms and lube. Also, a gun. This guy is putting an inordinate amount of trust in me. It bothered me, it was cocky. Even though he gave me the power to push him around and cum, he still shoved this in my face. I couldn’t kill him. I was still the desperate one. I’d get caught, I’d go to jail, I couldn’t do anything with this gun, and he knew it. It pissed me off to feel so helpless.

 

I took another swig of whiskey from the bottle and shakily donned the condom and lathered it in the expensive-looking lube, spilling some all over the carpet. Fuck his carpet. I turned around sharply and grabbed his legs, pushing them against his chest roughly. I could see him cringe, and see the bite marks on his neck starting to bruise. I hope those don’t count as some sort of trophy to him.

 

I grabbed my sticky dick and started guiding it into his asshole. I tried not to look, or to think, instead I just felt it, slowly. The tip slid in easily and my back shivered with the long forgotten pleasure. It was tight, it was electrifying. I was overcome and slammed the rest in, gripping tightly onto his legs and pounding deeper and deeper as he yelped out loudly, digging his fingers into the carpet. I let go, my dick swelling in his clenched hole, feeling delirious, horny, and drunk. 

 

More. I pounded again, my eyes tightly shut and mouth agape with the shock of the pleasure. The intense release of all that pent up anger, my rod getting sucked into a hot, wet hole… it made me sweat and gasp, and leaned harder into him, holding him tightly to the ground as I pumped him violently. It felt fucking amazing.

 

He called out pathetically, whimpering and moaning each time I thrusted deeply into him. I hated the euphoria in that whining voice, I wanted him to hurt. I opened my eyes to see him masterbating furiously with his other hand. I wanted to be angry, but it was hot. I liked this kind of thing, I guess. 

 

I pulled out and forcefully turned his body over. I didn’t want to see his smile anymore, I was done with whatever he was trying to do to me. I mounted him from behind and resumed my mad pummeling, losing most my my senses to the easy, floating thrill running through my blood. Even the effort, the hard, non-stop thrusting as I sweat and sharply inhaled through a heaving, dry mouth, that too was blissful. The feeling lifted from the pit of my stomach and started buzzing around in my head. My legs started to get shaky, but I was close, I needed to push just a little bit further. My cock was sliding effortlessly in and out, I tried going faster, trying to peak while savoring in the pain in my knees and my muscles.

 

“Harder,” he panted.

 

Harder? How much harder could I go? I swallowed, trying to regain some strength, and bowed over him to grab a tuft of his hair in my hand. I clutched it tightly, leaning all my weight to press him against the ground. Then I went harder. I imagined myself tearing through him, all the way to his stomach and fucking his insides. I thought of crushing his head and touching myself with his blood and brains. Shooting him with the gun and fucking the bullet hole until it was a gaping dick pocket. Then, I began to cum.

 

I let out quick, halted sounds as I released myself on top of him. I couldn’t tell if he came too, I wasn’t paying attention, and honestly didn’t care. But then it sank in. As I laid against his sweaty back, my penis still convulsing inside him as my cum dribbled pathetically out of the tip. What was I thinking? What kind of person am I? A lot of people would kill themselves before sinking this low, but I was getting off on it instead.

 

I didn’t want to think about anything anymore. Without even glancing at him, I got up and hobbled over to the bathroom, shutting the door loudly and locking it. I leaned against the sink and gasped and gagged. I looked in the mirror again. Even worse.  My face was lit up like a stop sign, I was perspiring and winded. My legs felt my weight again. Quivering, I lowered myself to the floor and just sat against the wall. I breathed, and regained my composure. 

 

The loss of adrenaline revealed an underlying headache. It had been years since I drank. And the last time I had sex… maybe that was years too. I peered into nothingness off to my side. It felt really good. I looked down, my penis was still red and slimy, covered in all kinds of unholy exchanges. Arduously, I peeled off the condom. Strangely, one of the more unpleasant feelings of the day. It was still midday. I was tired and filthy, so I focused my eyes once more to look at the shower. Fancy shit, as expected by now. I awkwardly crawled into the tub and turned the water on.

 

As the water gradually began to cascade, I shut my eyes and softened my whole body. I concentrated on the water lightly pelting my body, cooling the hot, tense muscles and washing away the sweat and blood. It took everything I had to stay awake, especially while trying not to think at all. Not think… that was the whole plan to begin with. In retrospect, I had done relatively well in what I set out to do. But I was trapped here, and there still wasn’t any real resolution. 

 

I was jolted awake when the hot water dripped onto my knees. A new fresh sting, but now I had a chance to wash them off. It couldn’t have been that bad to start off with, but now I had carpet burn on top of it all. I shook, a sudden rush of disgust and shame. I wish the feelings didn’t even exist. Sure, if I killed myself I wouldn’t have to feel sorrow, pain, guilt, or humiliation, but that was far from my mind. I wanted to live. I would suffer anything just to live. I could withstand anything I had to do. When returning to the big picture, I was washed over with sudden, sharp clarity. I was triumphant. 

 

I heard a door shut in the next room. Some time must have passed, as I was feeling a lot better. The reddish brown runoff slowly became clear again. I hadn’t been disturbed, so new shoes must have just left. Upon exiting the shower, I saw my disgusting discarded underwear in a clump on the floor. I would just get underwear from the bedroom.

When opening the door, I peered in to make sure it was empty. A small, juvenile part of me was scared of having to directly face the man I just screwed. I was still a social reject, on top of everything else. I shuffled through the drawers to look for something to wear. Everything was a bit too big, but I still found a regular button-up shirt and slacks. After dressing, I saw there had been a note left on the vanity. I picked it up, assuming it to have been left by my admirer. 

 

You can go home now,

the fight is in five weeks

get there at 4pm.

The venue is at 2444 Mercer St.

I’ll meet you there

Love, Leo

 

I was happy, I think, or at least relieved. I pocketed the note and opened the door to the hall. There was all kinds of noise downstairs. I imagined by now the wives and husbands were all hammered and getting down to whatever they normally do. I did what I could to avoid confrontation, consoled by the fact that the foyer had been cleared out. So I left.

 

Just like the walk to the door, the walk to the car was quick and blurry. I fiddled around uselessly with his mirror and found the cigarette I had put down earlier. It was as good a time as any. I smoked the rest of the pack.


	2. Hound

I haunted my house. While drifting from one room to another, I could hear the crying of cicadas outside, repeating themselves like running through a drill. I had foregone reinstalling the utilities in a desperate bid to prevent the hospital from giving my case to a collection agency. The only benefit being that without electricity, the phone stopped ringing. The house was only a few rooms, enough for a small family, and I floated lifelessly between them all. The stagnant, hot air tasted like dust and smelled like dead insects. The night before had been restless and nightmarish. My bruised, overheated body wrestled and churned as I dreamt I was lanced through with spikes over and over, and my punctured body was thrown into a furnace on top of a bed of charred corpses. 

  


When I got to the bedroom again, my throat caught and I openly wept. The house was nearly barren from everything I tried to pawn or sell, but the bedroom held items I couldn’t find it in my heart to part with. I still couldn’t muster the courage to pack them together, even though I only had two months before the period of redemption on my house’s foreclosure was over, and I would have no more allowance to stay on the property. They had been generous with the time they gave for me to find the money for the back interest and missed principal, but it had been predicated on my unfortunate circumstances and my grovelling insistence that I could find the money if they let me. I had so many agencies depending on my income that I had become a professional at begging.

  


Motivated to stop wallowing in my own despair, I headed to work on my day off. One of the only avenues available that didn’t have me cautiously stepping around the debris of my shattered life was exercise. After I returned to the states, I spent a good deal of time at home avoiding the world. It was only a few years later that I considered moving on and building a life for myself. I was able to get a job at a gym I liked, which came with a free membership. The time I spent actively working out was always a measure of internal solitude. I had been arduously drilled through effective workout routines in the past, which I customized to my liking. The exercise buffs at the gym warned me that the workout would be useless without the proper nutrition, but I couldn’t just tell them that my wages there barely afforded the monthly payments on my massive debt, leaving me to scrounge around in the newspaper for events that offered free food. Exercise was no longer training for me anyway, but more like an escape. 

  


I had five weeks to get my body back into the best shape of my life, which made me decide to take a gamble on buying real food. Even if I only won the first fight and then bowed out, I would have enough to keep the house and turn the utilities back on. Not only that, but I could probably afford to have a car again, and get a second job. Money was really the adhesive that made living possible. With it, I bought real meat and real vegetables. Even just looking at the blood red cuts of beef through the meat case window made my mouth salivate and my stomach grumble. I had to resist the urge to just eat it raw. 

  


While at the gym, I settled in for the evening. It was a family owned business and the owner was sympathetic to my situation. She let me use their refrigerator, stove, and showers as long as I was respectful and tidy. It was also her car that I borrowed to visit the Palermo’s house. Or at least, the in-between house the Palermo’s were using to meet prospective fighters. 

  


The owner, Wendy Woods, was sitting in the break room with her signature coffee mug when I came in with my groceries. She was dressed nicely, so was likely already working or about to start. Her father had started the gym 40 years ago, mostly for training boxers, but grew to include more well-rounded exercise equipment when Wendy took the reigns. Her father’s picture was hanging on the wall, with him holding up the arm of one of his fighters with a huge smile on his face. By the time I had joined the gym, he was all but retired, and mostly just helped the athletes with some pithy advice, going from one person to another and cracking jokes.

  


“Ohh, what have you got there? Are you cooking?” Wendy noticed me and turned all her attention my way. It didn’t look like she had much occupying her to begin with.

  


She was excited that I got protein for myself, and hovered around me for most of my cooking routine. She even went upstairs to her apartment and grabbed some cooking oil and seasoning that wasn’t in the break room kitchen. Her enthusiasm was appreciated, but at times it only hurt my heart. It reminded me of the way Lynn would talk when eating my food. ‘It smells so delicious,’ ‘it’s cooked just right,’ or ‘you really know your way around a kitchen!’ The right thing to do was to not let it get to me. I didn’t want to tell her to leave me alone, as I was trying hard not to let my mind wander too much. 

  


Intermittently other employees would come in and fawn over the smell of cooking steak and talk about how hungry it made them, or ask if I brought enough for everyone. It was the price I had to pay for cooking in a public area, and I accepted that it would be like that every time. Every once in a while I would feel the flickering flame of bitter resentment and have the urge to turn on them and chastise them for coveting the only good food I would have all week, but I was able to keep it under control. It had only been about four months since Lynn died, and I had been completely transformed from a pampered, happy husband into a feral dog fighting over scraps in the street. 

  


The last hope I had was to take advantage of some illegal fighting tournament. Any actual introspection would reveal the real fears inherent in such risky behavior, like the fact that as criminals they would have no motivation to keep the fighters in good condition, or the opponents I faced could be hopped up on any kind of steroids, or have weapons. The possibilities were nearly endless, but I kept reminding myself it couldn’t be any worse than what I had survived before. Then I would argue with myself: between the options of walking myself into a death trap or drowning in ever increasing debts, could either have a path in them that lead to any kind of happiness, or had all of my chances already come and gone. But when I exercised: silence.

  


For the five weeks leading up to the note’s invitation, I did nothing but eat and exercise. I had a solitary mission, and it made the days pass a little easier. When the time came, I headed over to the meeting spot on foot. It seemed a little sketchy that it was so close to my home, but I wrote it off as being some kind of highly localized fight. After all, I lived in a rundown neighborhood only a few miles out from New York City, so it was likely to be a spot for criminals to gather. I understood that firsthand. The beautiful, manicured neighborhood the Palermos where gathered in before made them out to be significantly wealthy, especially if it turned out to be a smuggling operation, or a shelter house to lay low. All I could remember from the interaction was that Frank Palermo was the person usually leading the conversations and making the decisions. Jerry told me he was a Palermo, so he was probably a direct relation. The others I didn’t have a strong impression of, and the Leo person who ‘interviewed’ me didn’t have much family resemblance. 

  


When I got to address on the note, by all appearances it was an abandoned storefront. The markings distinguishing what kind of business it used to be were long chipped away or destroyed, and on either side were also boarded up windows with lazy graffiti. I had passed this area a few times without giving it much of a second thought, but now it could be the only thing between me and a future. I pushed on the door, and it opened effortlessly. I had the eerie feeling that after crossing the threshold, I would never be able to go back to my life as I knew it, but then again, that’s exactly what I went there to do. 

  


Inside, there were ratty, disgusting carpets leading out into a dark, open room. It was hard to see, after coming in from the sunlight outside, but it was clearly an old gambling hall. Machines with the advertisement of ‘game of skill’ on them were scattered around and broken. Only some were left, with the previous owners clearly having taken out anything that could still be scavenged. Broken bottles and food wrappers were littered across the floor, and light fixtures hung in tangled webs of wires. After a quick scan of the area, there was clearly one light that was still on, like a beacon, above a large metal door behind the reception area. Looking through the small window on its face, I could see a well-lit, nearly clean stairwell going into a basement. Some burly guy with a kevlar vest was standing on the landing messing with something on his phone. When he noticed the movement, he quickly opened the door and let me through.

  


“Oh, hey, you’re early.” He casually spoke after the loud latch of the heavy door clicked open. “I was gonna meet you outside, sorry ‘bout that.”

  


I shook my head, left a bit uncomfortable by the dissonance between the ominous, empty building and his laidback attitude. He waved me forward down the stairs and I followed behind him quietly as he continued to ramble on about nothing in particular. At the bottom, there was a well-lit basement with a few nondescript people milling about, messing with computers and pieces of large machinery that I didn’t recognize. My feelings went from slightly uncomfortable to completely uneasy. I was expecting some kind of grubby fighting ring, or to file some kind of paperwork. From what I could tell, this looked more like an examination room. 

  


After I had a few seconds for my nerves to be on end, the people in the room caught notice of me and my escort and started bustling over to me, introducing themselves and making small talk like ‘you’re early,’ and ‘you look pretty strong.’ Two of them were nurses and the other said nothing about who they were besides their name. They fiddled around with stalling conversation until one of the nurses threw up his hands.

  


“Should we just start some of the smaller stuff, before Sgt. Noell gets here, or…?” He asked the room, clearly not sure whose job it was to make decisions in this case.

  


My gut started squirming, and I began to sweat. I had particularly bad experiences with sergeants in the past, not to mention I didn’t know who the hell this guy was.

  


“Am I in the right place?” I spoke up almost immediately, “Is this… the Palermo family…”

  


Before I could finish my panicked questioning, the female nurse put her hand on my back and rubbed in small circles, a clear move to pacify me.

  


“Oh, no, don’t worry Mr. Gerlach, you’re in the right place. We’re professionals, so don’t worry. We have no intention of causing you any harm. We were paid to take care of you.”

  


I was, admittedly, a little more calm, but part of me remained on edge. The man who lead me down the stairs insisted he’d go up and call the sergeant, then waddled back up in a hurry. The other three discussed the situation a bit more, before deciding to go ahead since there was plenty to do. The female nurse, having already made physical contact with me, smiled gently and guided me to a chair to sit. From her bedside manner, she must have indeed been a professional nurse in some capacity. She explained that she was going to take some blood to test for tuberculosis and STDs, and then promptly followed with a smooth and easy needle job into my arm. The male nurse hovered around, clearly just bored, but too proper to play on his phone like the door guard. 

  


Not much longer after the nurse removed the needle and dabbed some gauze on the pierced hole, the loud thunking noise of the metal door could be heard, followed by loud talking by the pair of rushed, heavy footsteps approaching from above. Around the corner came the all too familiar face of Leo himself, smiling from ear to ear.

  


“Look at this eager boy, all ready to go!” He cheered at me. Just seeing his smile at all made me want to throw a jab right in his nose, let alone the garbage that came out of his mouth. He clapped his hands together and jeered at the assembled team like an ass.

  


“I still need some samples.” My companion said tersely, grabbing some other prepared equipment near her. She seemed like such a kind, polite girl. It made me wonder how she got mixed in with a crime family. 

  


Leo motioned for her to continue, turning around to give instructions to the door guard. The nurse proceeded to grab a fingerprint by using some kind of tablet, and a swab from my mouth. I complied with everything she asked in a swift manner. I hoped I could at least spare her endured interaction with such unsavory company.

  


“One last thing. I’m going to pluck a hair so it might prick a little.”

  


She took some tweezers and plucked a single strand from my head. The act of warning me over such insignificant pain felt somehow divinely comical. Afterwards she began assembling everything together into different bags and closing them up. The blood alone she gave to the third man, who hadn’t described himself before. She patted my shoulder and softly gave me a ‘good luck’ before the two of them headed towards the stairs together.

  


I watched her walk away with a sense of dread. Somehow, it brought to mind Wendy and Lynn. I wondered if I had ever gotten to tell them how much I appreciated their kindness before now.

  


“Ok, I’m ready over here.” The male nurse chimed in, returning me to the present.

  


“Come on, Tommy, let’s get the boring shit over with!” Leo added gleefully. He tried to help me up from my seat but I elbowed him away. “Pahaha! You look so grumpy, what’s wrong with you?”

  


His chipper mood prickled against my skin like a rash, and I felt like it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped and he would do something hideous. I went to where the male nurse stood before a large machine. After explaining a bit, it became clear it was for an x ray image. It seemed like a dubiously necessary measure, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I felt the need to protest. Once I was in place and told not to move, Leo sidled up in view holding some kind of packet with it’s paper contents being flitted through by his fingers.

  


“I’m not too proud to admit I was worried when Jerry said he found the perfect dog.” He said, looking at me right in the eyes. “But you are actually a fine catch. Very impressive. It says here the Navy SEALs… wow!”

  


I flinched.

  


“Aww, but a dishonorable discharge… too bad. For you. It’s amazing for us.” He kept flipping page after page. “And your medical history is pretty clean. Well, physically, of course, only that one gunshot, huh?”

  


I flinched again, clenching my fists until my knuckles were bone white.

  


“No close family, amazing… no criminal record, fine, sure… So much debt. I mean, wow. One of those Palermo boys crunched the numbers. I think you were sitting somewhere around the $80,000 range? Does that sound right?”

  


I still didn’t answer, but closed my eyes and tried controlled breathing. The debt was what this was all for to begin with, so I couldn’t let the fact that they investigated it make me lose control. I had to let him have fun lording over me until I could get to the part where I could finally turn my only asset into a means of finally putting all of the tragedy behind me. If I really wanted to win, I could just imagine Leo’s face on my first opponent.

  


“I dunno, Tommy. If you ask me it was the police’s fault, but it was filed as an accident, huh? Never would have happened on my watch, Pup, believe you me. Of course I never would have busted such a lucrative cooking operation to begin with, so who knows.”

  


It clicked, even though it should have been clear right away. Leo was Sgt. Noell. He was a government employee, and could learn anything about me he wanted to. He not only was holding all the cards, he had so many extra, illegal cards tucked away under his sleeves. I opened my eyes again and Leo stood still, his arms folded as he patiently waited for the machine to finish.

  


“You know… I’m not someone you want to hate, Tommy. I’m your best friend. I’m your coach, your manager. I gotta make sure you’re not misbehaving, make sure you’re fit, yadda yadda… Anyway, you don’t know fuckall about the dogfight, so why don’t you ask me?”

  


“I thought Jerry was my manager…” I muttered quietly. Leo burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

  


“Pahaha, Lord have mercy on that poor child’s soul. I’ll bet he really believes it too! That Jerry. You don’t know him like I do but… pahahaha… that’s just the kinda thing he’d say!” It took a moment for Leo to get his breath back. “No, Jerry was good to find you, but he’s just the Don’s second. The middle son. Never known anything but bars and women. No one in the family is stupid enough to give him this kind of responsibility.”

  


“Then… what is the dogfight? Isn’t it just a fighting tournament?”

  


The machine made a distinct noise like it was powering down and the technician lept into action finishing off whatever kind of process the machine needed. When I looked back at Leo, he had taken a seat where the female nurse had been sitting before and gestured to the other seat. I obeyed and sat down.

  


“It’ll be good for you to know this, so listen closely. This is not ‘just some fighting tournament,’ not by far. This event is one of the biggest, greatest traditions among members of organized crime across the world. It started years and years ago as some kind of peace gathering, something, I have no idea, it’s probably a load of crock, but anyways, nowadays it’s as big as the olympics.”

  


I was taken aback, but I had to come to terms with the fact that I had no idea what I was getting into. It never occured to me that it could be something so large. One would think it would be common knowledge if it truly was such a massive undertaking. It made me terrified to think of what all I didn’t know.

  


“I’m not a numbers guy, so I don’t know all the specifics, but it’s the ultimate gambling event. The people go crazy for it. It’s hosted by different countries every four years, I think, and ehh… well, basically they all find themselves a dog to throw in. That’s the gist. Some crazies send in their own people, but the sane ones find somebody. Makes it easier if there’s an accident, you know.”

  


“So the fighters… are bet on… but there’s prize money for winning… right?” I swallowed hard anticipating the answer. Leo slapped me hard on the leg.

  


“You poor thing! Look at you! I just wanna pinch your cheeks!” He roared with laughter again. At some point the male nurse had finished his duties, because I heard his footsteps echoing up the stairs. “Yes, yes, a LOT of money! I think it’s, uh… I’ll have to look up the specifics, but it starts around thirty thousand, and the champion get somewhere around three million. It depends on the attendance, you know. All the groups throw in a hefty 100 thousand just to attend. That’s all for the dogs to fight over.”

  


Before I could feel relieved, he aggressively smacked his fist into his palm.

  


“Damn, I almost forgot! You’re gonna wanna kill the messenger here, but the head of the Palermo family is, uhh, haha, pretty stingy. He’s not big into this fight to begin with, I’m pretty sure he’s just doing this for his sons. He couldn’t give less of a shit what a good find you are, so long as you don’t embarrass him completely. So, he has this, uh, little condition…”

  


My stomach dropped and I held my breath. “What?”

  


“Well, you’re a great fighter, right? Not just the SEALs, but boxing training! You could probably knock out a few nobodies with no problem, right? Probably make it a few rounds? Earn a cool 500 thousand, let’s say. More than you’ll ever need. You could pay off your house, fix the damages, rent it out, get a new house, right?”

  


“Just spit it out.”

  


“Look… if you want to enter the tournament with the Palermo sponsor, you’ll have to shoulder their entry fee. The Don wants it taken out of your winnings. He’s already blowing more money than he wants to on all this. The blackmail, the bodyguard, all that travel and all the risk he’s taking… a lot of the smaller families do it. They like to find people with no other option. You might have noticed.”

  


I was dead silent for a while, and Leo, too, said nothing. It was a proposition, afterall, and he was waiting for an answer. It sounded like I was being given the option to leave now, and pass on the chance to earn more money than I could ever spend. If I wanted any chance at getting it, I would have to first more than double my own personal debt. 

  


“What would happen… if I don’t win?”

  


Leo hesitated, opening his arms and closing them like he didn’t want to spell it out. There was probably a lot money in it for him, too, if he got to be my manager.

  


“Well, let’s say owing us money is a lot worse than owing it to a hospital. In fact, you might just earn yourself a few more hospital bills before it’s over.”

  


The silence resumed. He wasn’t wrong that the clear best case scenario would be winning enough matches to have the money to solve all my problems. On the other hand, if I lost, I would only have dug my own grave. There was still so much I didn’t know about the tournament, or the fighters. Then again, when I imagined walking back to my house, having only what I have now, it seemed like the grave was already there, open and ready for me to dive in. I had tried so many places, and nobody was willing to help. Nobody but the Palermos.

  


“I’ll… shoulder the debt.”

  


Leo uncharacteristically sighed, like a huge weight had been lifted off of his chest.

  


“That’s my boy! Bless you, Pup, you won’t regret this!” 

  


Leo jumped up from his seat and pat me roughly on the back. I, personally, didn’t feel like it was a decision worth celebrating. Leo jogged over to the stairwell.

  


“Elton, come on, it’s a go!” He yelled. 

  


The guard briskly tapped down the stairs. To my surprise, the female nurse was with him. She was looking at the floor as she walked, except for a second when she stole an apologetic glance up at me. The two of them settled by the second machine that I hadn’t paid much attention to. Leo guided me towards it.

  


“Here, this will be simple. Can’t really be done any other way. It’s a matter of security, you understand.”

  


There was a chair I was meant to sit in that had the adjustable back set so far as to almost be lying flat. When the nurse took ahold of a gas mask I realized the implications. While I had no desire at all to be voluntarily knocked out, I realized I had made my bed, and it was time to sleep in it. I took the seat and focused my gaze on the nurse fiddling with nozzles and buttons. It made her nervous.

  


“This is a perfect mixture. I’ve never seen it go badly. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  


I wasn’t worried. I lifted my head as she gently slid the mask over my face. She held her hand on my face a second longer, with a kindred look of helplessness marking her features.

  


“Okay, Mr. Gerlach. Why don’t you tell me about your favorite memory? Whatever comes to mind first. I’d like to hear all about it.”

  


I thought for a moment, and a particular one sprung to the top like a cork in water.

  


“One time, when Lynn was having a difficult time in school… college… she was really stressed out. She was quiet, didn’t want to bother me. She thought I had been through enough, she said. She didn’t get it. Nothing was worse than feeling like we were growing apart. So I made her drop everything and we went for a drive. Windows down, music as loud as it would go, out to the middle of nowhere. Out so far that you could really see the stars. By then she was tired, but before she fell asleep, she…”

  


She said she almost forgot how beautiful life was. All your problems seem so small when you’re happy to be alive.

  
  
  


The next I remembered, I was tossing and turning before slowly realizing I was becoming conscious. I stretched and squirmed, first taking note of my sore throat, then my dry mouth. I had a sudden maddening thirst for water, and the motivation to try to get up. I could hear noises, but they were unintelligible. Facing the task of getting up and grabbing water, I figured it would be next to impossible and nearly gave up. That’s when it occurred to me that I was likely not in my house, and I in fact needed to figure out where I was. 

  


The noises in the room slowly became recognizable as speech. More than one person was talking, and I could pick out pieces of information.

  


“This dog… going… money… You bet… never… who knows… father…”

  


“Of course… trust… a dog… but I expect… is going… everything…”

  


It wasn’t enough to garner any real meaning, more like a jumble of random words. I groaned in an attempt to get their attention.

  


“Oh… water…” said one of the voices, bless his soul.

  


The two continued to talk but my focus had been drawn only to the promised water itself. Before too long, my grogginess waned and my surroundings became less mysterious. I was in some big, comfortable bed with a plump blanket draped over me. After sitting up and rubbing my eyes a bit, the rest of the room seemed to be some kind of hotel. It was a bedroom attached to a bathroom, with a curtained window to one side. It was a familiar set-up found in most hotel situations. I was given a tall glass of water, and I took to chugging it. Before I could get far, a hand pulled mine back down.

  


“Stop that. That’s not going to help, take it slow.” 

  


My eyes followed the hand back up to its owner. An older gentleman in a well-fitted pullover and graying blonde hair held a reassuring smile that produced tight wrinkles around his eyes. He was squinting through rectangular glasses, thickly framed half rim with some kind of golden cross across the side. His voice was woody and rich, matching his stuffy and affluent exterior. My eye trailed to the person behind him, much younger, closer to my age, had the same blue eyes but no glasses. Somehow, the younger one seemed more uptight and tired.

  


“I don’t know what we’re going to do about it, this whole thing is a nightmare.” The younger one said, “I don’t know whose idea it was. Heaven help me if this is some kind of plot of Jerry’s.”

  


I took slower sips of the water, prompting the older one to nod at me sagely, looking me directly in the eyes, like he was trying to look at something beyond them.

  


“No, it was my idea.”

  


This caused some kind of spat between the two to flare. 

  


“You have to be joking. You? Why? Why take the risk? Wait.. why didn’t you tell me? You went straight to father? Hold on… you told Jerry before you told me?!” The younger one couldn’t stop mounting his complaints one upon the other. He huffed indignantly, getting close to the other and smacking him on the back of the head.

  


The older one looked, more than anything, inconvenienced. He stood up and the two of them got in each other’s faces.

  


“I wasn’t going to bother you, Carmine. You have your own business, and I knew you would hate this. I knew you’d think it was a waste of time and money. This whole thing would only stress you out. I was sparing you.”

  


“I’m sorry, excuse me? Sparing me? Really?” He was clearly stressed. “When you’re putting the whole family into some kind of gambling shitshow? Really? You’re not taking this seriously! We could lose a lot of money, don’t you care?”

  


The older one, clearly the eldest son of Frank Palermo, put his hands on Carmine’s shoulders. 

  


“Come now, have I ever disappointed you in the past? Father left the finances to me because he trusted my decisions. This dogfight has nothing to do with gambling, it’s all politics. Please trust me when I say I’ve taken every possible precaution. Everything is fine.”

  


I felt out of my depth to even be in the same room as the two of them. Their clothing, their speech, and their types of problems were all something from a world far away from the one I lived in. Once they started talking about finances and alliances, Carmine asked to move the conversation outside, which the older brother obliged. 

  


At some point I finished the glass I was given and had regained most of my senses. I realized I was naked under the covers, and felt a chill as I wrapped them up closer to me. My throat was still sore, and I felt almost dizzy, but overall I was alright. It wasn’t longer than a moment before I was shocked to discover someone had been sitting at my bedside the whole time. I jumped a bit when I saw him.

  


“Heeeeyy, buddy. How’s it goin’?”

  


It was the guard from before, Elton. He had less gear on, and I could see his face much more clearly. He had to be younger than me, somewhere in his late 20s, and he had bright reddish brown hair in a very modern, undercut style. He came off more like a laborer than a mob goon, but at least he came from the same planet, unlike the Palermo brothers.

  


“Fine… all things considered.”

  


He nodded and smiled vacantly, looking completely uninvested in my answer.

  


“So, you’re Thom… Tommy? What should I call you?”

  


“Thom is fine.”

  


“Right. Thom. I’m Elton. Elton Casey.” He put his hand forward to shake. I shook it awkwardly. “I’m your personal bodyguard. Y’know, now that you agreed and stuff.” 

  


“Personal… bodyguard?” I had trouble taking the information in.

  


“Yeah. No worries, I’m super good at it.” He assured, convincing nobody but himself. “Listen, I’ve been briefed on the whole thing. Past events an’ stuff. Jus’ don’t drink anything anybody gives ya, right? I got a thingy that tests for poison. And, well…”

  


He trailed off, apparently not sure where he was going with his explanation.

  


“Whatever, you know what bodyguards are. I do that stuff.”

  


I was reeling a bit from remembering much of what Leo had told me before I was knocked out, let alone the information that this child Elton was supposed to be the one thing between me and a warehouse full of scheming criminals. I still wasn’t quite sure of the scale of the event, let alone much of what was apparently a hotly debated issue about my sponsorship to begin with. I wanted to ask more questions, but doubted Elton was going to be able to provide anything much more than the bare minimum.

  


“So… when is the fight going to be?”

  


Elton looked surprised to be asked a question at all, and sat upright like he was being called on in class.

  


“Ehhh, it’s, uh, like in a day? Like the day after tomorrow?”

  


His answer was so non-commital that it was practically useless. I quickly felt exasperated, wanting to know more but feeling like I was coming up against a wall.

  


“Elton… be real with me. Please just tell me what you know. They’ve barely told me anything. I don’t even know the Palermo family that well, I only met them once.”

  


Elton seemed to take pause, considering what was alright to divulge and what he had to keep to himself. He even rubbed his chin in thought, like a cartoon character.

  


“Alright. I got you, man. This thing is just a game for all those rich guys. They have too much money and they want to have some big dick measuring contest, right? All you have to do is whatever the Palermo guys tell you to do. Especially the one, the, uh, Angelo guy. He’s the Don’s eldest, and his favorite, by far. He talks about him all the time, about how he can do no wrong.”

  


I considered this. It was Angelo’s plan to enter the family in the dogfight, and his father Frank trusted him to know what he was doing and said ok. They enlisted Jerry’s help in finding me, but they left the youngest, Carmine, out of the loop. I could somewhat understand Carmine’s outrage, in the end. 

  


My gut instinct was to hope that Angelo already had some kind of plan that would guarantee that everything would go smoothly, but my mind reminded me that by ‘having a plan’, he surely only meant that he knew how to make money off of the event, not that he would ensure my safety nor keep me in fights long enough to earn the money to pay off my debts. For all I knew he wanted to enter me so he could heavily bet on my opponent and instruct me to take the fall. After all, that would be a surefire way to win.

  


“Anyway, we’re just lil’ chess pieces to them. Nothin’ you can do about it.” Elton shrugged with his whole body. “Personally, I owe the Don a huge favor, so this is a big break for me. After this I’m set. That’s how it is, you know? They’re criminals, but they got honor. They aren’t just sleazeballs from the streets. They’re classy and shit.”

  


‘Sure.’ I thought. I didn’t want to engage in any more conversation with Elton. I wanted to believe he was good at his job, but the impression he left was that Frank Palermo grabbed the first muscular person who would do the job for free. He really was a cheap asshole. It went to show just how secure he felt in Angelo’s handling of the money. I felt like if I wanted any chance at surviving this tournament, it would be smart to pay attention to things like that. 

  


Speaking of the devil, Angelo re-entered the room without Carmine. Whatever argument ensued after they left, he escaped it completely unfazed. To note, one could probably not expect to do well in the organized crime racket unless they had some skill in settling disputes. He gave a short sigh, and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

  


“So, feeling better I hope?”

  


I confirmed with a nod, but refused to emote. I wanted much more to read him than I wanted him to read me.

  


“Wonderful. Wonderful…” He looked somewhere in middle space, glassy eyed. “I’ve looked your information over myself and… let me just say I’m extremely pleased. You’re doing me a great favor by being here. Thank you.”

  


Without any input from me, his words lingered in the air like the kind of cloud that you couldn’t tell whether it would turn into rain or not. With that, he got back up and headed for the door.

  


“There is… something I wanted to say…” He stopped shortly before reaching the exit. I waited anxiously, now always on my guard against what kind of new horror was going to be heaped onto the load. 

  


“Your wife… it’s absolutely terrible what happened. I can’t even imagine. It must be quite difficult for you.”

  


Again, I tried not to make a move. I couldn’t know his motive, so I couldn’t say a word. Waiting a moment to gage my response, he eventually gave up and moved on, out of the room. Once the door clicked shut, I heaved a sigh of relief. What I really wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry. Instead, I settled for bunching the blanket tight around myself and ducking my head into my arms. ‘Chess pieces,’ Elton had said. It must have been some kind of angle to get me softened and make me feel like me and the Palermo family were nice, civil allies in some kind of partnership. His charms must have worked well enough on others that he didn’t expect them to ring so hollow in my ears. Coming from one of the people who imprisoned me in a life or death situation, the sympathy felt like an arrow through my chest. 

  


“Hey. You wanna hear somethin’ funny I heard? I heard that Jerry is short for Jeremiah.”

  


It was, somehow, kind of funny.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story is a personal project mostly for fun. The story will likely be around 18-20 chapters, as it's already been mapped out so long as I don't get the urge to change it. The explicit scenes are going to be a part of the story, but it will mostly revolve around the tournament and intrigue between the multiple characters and their personal motivations clashing with each other.
> 
> If you are interested in seeing future chapters, I would suggest bookmarking it, as I don't have much free time to write and it is still a bit difficult for me as a relative beginner. I would really appreciate feedback, especially about the writing style or whether things are coming across clearly. Other than that, thank you for taking a chance on reading an original story, I hope you'll enjoy it up to the conclusion.


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